


One Night Fall

by Luck_Kazajian



Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Deep Conversations, Drinking, F/M, Foreplay, Friendship, Loneliness, Memories, Romance Gone Awry, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22948792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luck_Kazajian/pseuds/Luck_Kazajian
Summary: A quiet night on the Bebop leads to some unexpected consequences. When a lonely Faye propositions an introspective Spike, Spike shows a rare moment of compassion for the Romany. Or maybe that’s just the whiskey talking. But when the moment escalates beyond what either of them expected, how does Spike let Faye down without destroying both of them?
Relationships: Julia/Spike Spiegel (mentioned), Spike Spiegel/Faye Valentine
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	One Night Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to Shadowcrest Nightingale for beta reading this for me! It took me a while to get everything to feel right in this story and Shadowcrest helped out a lot. This little oneshot was inspired by some conversations we had while she was writing her Bebop fic Alley Cat Shuffle (go check it out!)

Cigarette smoke drifted lazily in front of his face. Spike watched it until he was nearly cross-eyed, then shook his head, dispersing the smoke in hazy tendrils. He took another sip of whiskey -- straight from the bottle because Jet wasn’t around to make him get a glass. Spike grinned. Jet wasn’t picky about much, but right now Spike was breaking every rule in the Black Dog’s book. He was sitting in the pilot’s chair on the bridge of the _Bebop_ , feet up on the console, drinking whisky from the bottle, resting it on the dash between sips. 

He’d be careful. He hadn’t spilled anything on the bridge yet. Better than Faye, anyway, who spilled a whole bottle of nail polish on the navigation system. Jet banned her from ever painting her nails on the bridge again. 

Even Ed got the taboo when she laughed so hard she sprayed soda out of her nose on the ship’s computer. It had been Spike’s fault -- he’d been impersonating Faye in a cold shower -- but, to be fair, he couldn’t control the kid’s reaction. Jet gave Spike a token lecture and warned Ed about sticky drinks too close to the console when Faye walked in on the scene.

But he hadn’t explicitly banned Spike from doing anything on the bridge. 

So here he was. 

Doing three of Jet’s least favorite things on the bridge. 

Which was fine because Jet wasn’t here. He and Ed went into town after dinner -- something about going to a show because they were _cultured._ Spike rolled his eyes. As if anyone on the _Bebop_ could actually be cultured _._ Spike didn’t expect them back for several hours.

He leaned back in the pilot’s chair and took another swig of whiskey, feeling the familiar burn as it settled in his belly. He was at ease for the first time in -- well, for the first time in a long time. At ease enough to drink away his edge, dull his senses until everything felt fuzzy, warm. That feeling right before he tipped the line between buzzed and drunk. But for the first time in a long time, it didn’t matter if he let himself slip. There was nobody chasing him. Nothing to hide from. He was home, his friends were safe -- there wasn’t anything he had to worry about right now. He’d even had beef in his bell peppers tonight. 

Best of all, he hadn’t heard a peep out of Faye since dinner. She’d gone to “take a soak” with a paperback. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t see her for the rest of the night. Maybe she’d even fall asleep in the bath. He sniggered. She’d drop her paperback in the tub and he’d have to listen to her gripe about how she’d never get to find out whether John Doe and Mary Jane got together or if Joe Schmoe swept her away instead. Spike put his hands behind his head. It’d be worth it. Those things she read were garbage anyway. He picked one up once (out of sheer boredom) and decided that the reason Faye didn’t have a beau was that her expectations were skewed -- real relationships took time, not a sexy glance on the street and a jaunt to the nearest bedroom.

Real relationships. Spike felt his mood sour. What did he know about real relationships anyway? The only relationship he’d had was with Julia. Well, the only serious one. There’d been other girls when he was younger. Girls he’d taken to dinner, girls he’d kissed -- even girls he brought home for the night. But that was all they’d ever been. A night or two of fun and the distant smell of perfume in the morning. 

But Julia. Julia was real. Julia was everything Spike needed. A steady presence, a loving touch. She laughed at his antics and listened to his rants. She wasn’t afraid to call him out on his bluffs and she held him to his word. She was perfect.

And taken. 

Maybe that had been part of the allure. The hurried mornings when he flipped up his collar to hide the shape of her lips on his neck, the casual nights at the bar with Vicious and Julia where he held back from laughing too much at her stories, the moments where they found an empty hall and stole a kiss, all the while waiting with bated breath for someone to find them. 

And find them he did. 

Spike grimaced and took a longer swallow of whiskey. He didn’t want to remember that night. The way Julia looked when Vicious walked in. The way Spike’s brain froze and his mouth locked open and he couldn't think of a single damn excuse as to why he was in Julia’s apartment without his shirt on. 

Vicious knew, of course. They all knew, which only made it all the more excruciating. Spike had been expecting rage, anger -- anything but the cold, calm conversation that followed. Vicious didn’t even mention what was right in front of him. No, he’d let his revenge come later, let the guilt and the suspense build.

But the worst part of it all had been Julia’s tears. It didn’t matter what Spike said or did after that. The tears kept coming. 

And that had been the beginning of the end. 

Spike took another long sip from his bottle and stood up. It took him a moment to find his balance -- something that would’ve worried him under different circumstances. But tonight he didn’t mind. In a _maybe if I fall down the stairs I won’t remember what I’m thinking about now_ kind of way. 

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. 

He wasn’t that lucky. The only thing he’d get from falling down the stairs would be a headache. He snuffed his cigarette in an ashtray on the console and headed downstairs before his balance took a longer vacation. If he was going to get properly drunk, he’d do that safely on the couch. Where there weren’t any stairs. And where Jet wouldn’t wake him up and tell him to move if he passed out. It had been a long time since he’d let himself forget. Maybe tonight it was time to drink until he did.

* * *

He only made it halfway down the stairs before he ran into a bathrobe-clad Faye on her way up. 

“Spike!” She grabbed his arm in a state of excitement. “Jus' the man I wanted to see!” 

Spike gulped. _That_ couldn’t be good. He was never the man Faye wanted to see. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Wrong? Nothing.” Faye smiled, a little lopsided.

Spike stared at her suspiciously. “You’re usually all ‘get out of my way lunkhead!’” 

Faye sighed and yanked on his arm. “Jus’ c’mon.” 

“Why? Where are we going?” he asked as she dragged him down the stairs. Spike half-stumbled to keep up. This was not what he had in mind when he’d headed downstairs. 

Faye dragged him into the living room and unceremoniously dumped him on the couch. Spike let her. He’d been heading there anyway. 

“I need a man’s opinion,” Faye declared, gesturing to a jumble of nail polish spread across the coffee table.

Spike blinked at the tiny bottles. What were there, like 50? Who needed that much nail polish anyway? What the hell was going on? Faye wanted his opinion on...nail polish? Wait, back up. Faye wanted _his_ opinion? Spike narrowed his eyes and scrutinized her. Although she was wearing her bathrobe, her hair was dry and she had make-up on. In fact, she was more dolled up than usual. Something was up. He wasn’t _that_ far gone.

“Are you...going somewhere?” he finally asked. 

Faye gave him a coquettish smile. “Maybe, maybe not, why?” 

The simple question tripped him for a second. “Because you...um...this?” he gestured to her and then to the bottles spread out on the table. 

“Does a lady need excuses to get dressed up?” She sat down on the couch beside him. 

Damn, she was even wearing perfume. 

Spike grunted and side-eyed her, remaining carefully noncommittal. Because Faye was being anything but. There was a flush to her cheeks that told Spike her bath had involved a little more than water. Maybe she hadn’t been reading her book after all. Spike gave his whiskey bottle a longing glance and suddenly wished he’d had more to drink.“What do you want, Faye?” 

“Want? Me?” Faye indicated herself with a flourish. “Nothing. Well, nothing _bad_. I just thought maybe you could help me pick a color?”

“Faye, what in all the nine planets makes you think _I_ want to help paint _your_ nails?” Spike spluttered. 

“I don’t want you to _paint_ them, lunkhead. I want you to pick the color.” 

“Why?” 

“If I’m going to impress the men, I figure I ought to get a man’s opinion.” 

Spike stared at her with his mouth half-open. Who was this woman? Where was the real Faye? What was she up to?

Faye reached over and popped his mouth shut. “Close that before something nests in it,” she said, but she was already sorting through her nail polish and her retort lacked the acid Spike had been expecting. He sat up a little straighter, even more confused. 

“So, what color?” Faye asked. “Red?” She fumbled bottles and snagged a garish bottle of crimson, holding it up to her nails. “Blue?” She dropped the first bottle and grabbed a navy polish shot through with silver swirls like galaxies. “Purple?” She picked up yet another bottle, a regal-looking lavender. 

Spike watched the light glint and sparkle off the many shades as Faye shuffled bottles across the table. It was almost dizzying. He took a swig of his whiskey and wiped his mouth. “I dunno, how ‘bout green?” he asked. 

“Are you nuts? _Green_? With this eyeshadow?” Faye demanded. 

“Sure, why not?” Spike waved a lazy hand at her as he tipped his head back on the couch and closed his eyes. 

“You’re not even looking!” Faye stomped her foot. 

Spike grinned. “‘Course not.” 

Faye _hmphed_ and tossed her nail polish back on the table. Spike winced at the clatter and clash of the glass bottles. 

He felt the couch cushions shift beside him, but Faye didn’t get up. She didn’t say anything. Spike feigned sleep. Maybe Faye would leave. She didn’t. He didn’t either.

After several minutes, Spike sighed and opened his eyes. She was baiting him, dammit. He knew it. He also knew he was going to bite. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was because there was no one else around. And maybe, just maybe, it was because he was a little bit curious. He rolled his head toward her. “What’s this really about, Faye?” 

Faye didn’t answer. Instead, she stared at her bottles of polish, legs drawn up on the couch in front of her, arms wrapped around her knees.There was a glimmer in her eyes -- tears, maybe? Just as Spike was about to give up and go to sleep for real, she turned to him and asked, “Do you ever get lonely, Spike?” 

Spike stared at the ceiling. A hundred answers flew through his head, all lies. He’d always denied it before. Always. As the kid who came home to find his parents murdered, as the teenager with a chip on his shoulder who joined the Dragon, as the weary man who faked his own death, as the shadow Jet pulled out of a backwater bar on Ganymede. He’d always insisted he was fine. That he didn’t need anyone in his life. And life threw that lie back in his face every time. He sighed. Maybe it was time to admit the truth. “All the damn time.” 

He heard Faye’s intake of breath -- something between a sigh and a sob. He didn’t look. She’d be biting her lip, like she did when she was thinking or when she was hurting. Those emerald eyes would be open, vulnerable, windows he didn’t want to look in right now. He dug in his pockets for a cigarette to give his hands something to do. 

“Even now? After all the,” Faye waved a hand around in the air like she was looking for words, “you know...Dragon?” She said “Dragon” but Spike swore she’d slurred a J into a D and changed her sentence at the last minute. He felt that familiar ache in his chest, the sudden hitch every time he heard her name. 

_Even now. After Julia._

Spike lit his cigarette and blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling before he answered. “Especially now,” he said softly. 

“Even with m--us?” 

Spike sighed again. He wasn’t drunk enough for this conversation. He caught Faye’s stumble. _Even with me?_

Spike rubbed his knuckles against his eyes, pressing until he saw red. How was he supposed to explain it? He was surrounded by the three people -- well, four if you counted Ein -- that he’d rather be with. The only three people in the universe who could've pulled him out of the empty gulf after Julia and Vicious died. The three people who made him decide living was worth it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss Julia. Or that he still wasn’t sure where he fit into the universe.

“Yeah. Even with you guys.” He pulled at the edge of the label on his whiskey bottle. “It’s not like I can erase the past, Faye. I have some fond memories, even with all the shit I went through.” Even as he said it, an image came to mind. Of a laughing Julia and Vicious under the dim light of a green lamp over a pool table. The haze of cigarette smoke, the giddy rush of alcohol, the crack of billiards balls in the background. “I know I can’t go back. I know I need to live here and now. And I like it on the _Bebop_. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I could go back sometimes.” 

Faye was quiet for a long time. “I know what you mean,” she finally said. 

Spike exhaled and watched his cigarette smoke spiral up toward the ceiling fan.

“You want to go back, too?” He tilted his head toward her. 

She nodded, arms still wrapped around her knees. There was that glint in her eyes again, but this time it spilled over onto her cheeks in silver trails. Spike leaned forward, his body moving before his mind thought about it, reaching out, but then Faye swiped the tears off her cheeks and the moment was gone. Spike ran a hand through his hair. 

“If you could go back to anywhere in your life, where would you go?” he asked. 

“Home.” Faye sniffled. 

“Home?” Spike raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t this home?” 

She smiled, a little too perfect, a little too forced. “I mean my home on Earth. Before the...accident. When my parents were still alive and I could jus’ be a little girl and not worry about...everything.” 

“Back to being a kid,” Spike murmured. 

“Yeah.” Faye nodded. “Back when mom made dinner and dad kissed me when I got home from school. When someone else bought my clothes and drove me around and paid my bills and all I had to worry about was keeping my grades up and making sure my outfit matched. Those were the days...” 

Spike listened as Faye painted a picture of her home for him. She wasn’t looking at him, but staring at the nail polish bottles, as if she could see what she was describing in the colorful mess -- a house grander than anything Spike had ever lived in, gardens full of roses and snapdragons and tulips and trailing ivy, parties and sleepovers with her friends, having a crush on a cute boy named Eito in 6th grade. 

As he listened, Spike couldn’t help the spark of envy that burned in his chest. Burned for the boy he’d been in 6th grade, the one who’d come home to detectives at his front door. The one who’d been tossed between families and alleys and churches, a charity case, a boy with a temper and a reckless streak and no one to care if he came home alive.

“...you know?” Faye asked.

Spike blinked. Faye was looking at him expectantly, waiting on an answer. But he hadn’t heard the question. He played it safe and nodded. 

“Back when life was simple,” Faye sighed. 

Spike grimaced. “Life wasn’t simple. Not even then.” 

Faye looked over at him, one eyebrow raised. Like maybe what he said didn’t quite fit the conversation. Or like she didn’t understand. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

Spike fingered the neck of his whiskey bottle for a while, then took a generous sip, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before he answered. “I mean, must be nice,” he finally said. “Having a childhood.” 

“Oh, and you didn’t?” Faye asked, a little of her usual spite back in her tone. “What, did you just pop out of your mom’s womb fully grown or something?” 

Spike scowled. “Faye, that’s stupid.” 

“Of course it is!” Faye threw her hands up. “Everyone has a childhood, Spike. It’s not like you can skip it.” 

Spike sat up and leaned forward, setting his whiskey on the coffee table and resting his elbows on his knees. He took a long draw on his cigarette and answered as the smoke left his lips. “Did you ever come home to a detective on your doorstep? Or lay awake at night because you were so damn hungry you couldn’t sleep?” 

Faye shook her head. 

“I didn’t think so.” 

Faye opened her mouth to speak, but Spike silenced her with a gesture. 

“I was eleven, Faye. Eleven. The same age you were crushing on boys and matching your socks and hairbows. I came home to blood and caution tape and a detective who rushed me away before I could even look through the front door. All I had to my name were the clothes on my back and a backpack full of schoolbooks. No one would tell me anything. Instead, they took me to the station and told me to wait. I sat at the police station with a cup of water and a ham sandwich for _seven hours_ before someone finally told me my parents were dead.” 

“Oh, Spike, I’m --” Faye slid a little closer

“Don’t say it.” Spike held up a hand. “It won’t change anything.” 

Faye sat there with her mouth open like she wasn’t sure what to do next. “And then?” she asked. 

“Then they got tired of having sympathy for me,” Spike said. “Everyone wanted to care for the little orphan boy at first -- people took me home. Bought me food, clothes, stuff. But when I got older and people realized I was a permanent problem, they…” Spike paused and shrugged, “...stopped caring.” 

Faye reached out and put a hand on Spike’s shoulder. He stiffened, then relaxed when she didn’t do anything else. 

“I see what you mean. About not having a childhood.” 

Spike didn’t answer. God, he wasn’t drunk enough for this conversation. He wasn’t drunk enough for these memories. Or maybe...he was just drunk enough. Just drunk enough to let his guard down, to cross the carefully constructed boundaries he didn’t let himself cross on a normal day. He’d been drinking to forget, but when forgetting was what he did all the time, he supposed drinking only brought about remembering.

“I...kind of get it,” Faye interrupted his thoughts. “The part about being a permanent problem. About being alone, even when you’re surrounded by people. That’s what I felt like when I woke up from the cryogenics. I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know my own name, my parents were gone, along with everyone I’d ever known. I was alone. And the people who...who took me in only…” Faye paused, biting her lip for a minute, as if to gather herself. She finished in a whisper. “They only wanted to use me.” 

Spike could well remember a few families who took him in only to look good on paper, or to catch a tax break. He supposed it was something like what happened to Faye. “The world’s tough,” Spike agreed, voice catching on the last word. He leaned forward and snuffed his cigarette on the coffee table so he wouldn’t have to catch Faye’s eye.

“Spike, can I…? I mean, I...um…

“Hmm?” Spike raised an eyebrow right before Faye leaned closer and wrapped her arms around him. 

Spike froze, his body and brain utterly incapable of making a decision. Was Faye _hugging_ him? 

He hadn’t been hugged like this in...well, in a long time. 

It felt...nice. 

And the weirdest part was, he felt his arms go up, resting on Faye’s back. Not quite a hug. But not nothing either. Spike sighed and rested his chin on the top of Faye’s head. This was weird. And in a sober world, it wouldn't make any sense at all. But maybe that’s what came of drinking until his walls came down. Maybe this is what came of wanting someone you could never touch again. 

Hell, maybe this is what came of being human. 

“This feels...good,” Faye said against his chest. He could feel her warm breath against his collar, smell her shampoo and perfume, mixing into something that begged him to forget, to surrender, to give in to the pounding ache in his body that told him it had been far too long since he’d been this close to a woman. 

It had been far too long since he'd been with a woman -- in any sense of the word. There was a part of him that wanted it. Regretted not taking his chances before now. And there was the part of him that knew he couldn't. Not after Julia. Because any other woman would just feel...wrong. Especially Faye. 

So then why did this feel so... _right?_

Spike sighed. 

Faye slid a little closer. 

Spike didn’t move. It was like he was frozen in time, lost in a place he hadn’t dared go in _years._ And it was warm and it was breathtaking and it was a place he told himself he’d never go again. But here he was. And now that he was here, he wasn’t at all sure how to leave. 

Or even if he wanted to. 

Faye shifted again, moving closer, sitting up so that she was nearly in his lap, her face inches from his. He could smell the liquor on her breath, something sweet that tangled itself with her perfume until he wasn’t sure which scent was stronger. 

She was breathing harder than she should’ve been. 

Or was that him? 

This close it was hard to tell -- their breath, their heartbeats twisting into one rhythm, drowned in whiskey, lost in a hazy trail of cigarette smoke.

Faye met his eyes and they held each other's gazes for a moment, simply breathing and existing. 

“What...what are you doing?” Spike finally found words again. 

“Helping you...go back.” She winked.

Back. 

Before the Dragon. 

Before Vicious. 

Before Julia. 

To a place where he didn’t have to ache every time he remembered. To a place where his past didn’t haunt him. Back to when he could feel. Back to when he could…

Faye slid across him until she was fully in his lap, straddling him.

Everything was moving too fast for Spike to follow, like a con he didn't quite understand. Where he knew he was being had, but he couldn't catch the trick. Or maybe he didn't want to catch the trick this time. Faye turned back to face him again and wrapped his hands around her hips. She twined hers around his neck, pulling him closer.

"Spike?" 

She'd never said his name like that before. Like a cat's purr, soft and exotic.

"Hmm?” Thoughts and sensations whirled through him faster than his whiskey-muddled brain could sort out.

“Have you ever wanted to…?” Faye trailed off, face mere inches from his, her breath soft against his cheek. 

“Sometimes,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. He let his hands slide up her sides. Faye shuddered and leaned into him. Desire welled up in him like a heady river. He was nowhere near drunk enough for this.

“With me?” Faye asked. 

“Mmm--” Spike didn’t get a word out before Faye’s lips were locked on his. His body responded before his mind could stop him and his lips molded to hers. She kissed him hungrily, angry, desperate. She stole his breath, stole his thought until there was nothing left and Spike was drowning in her. 

And God, it was...intoxicating. 

He bit her lip and hung on until she gasped. Her tongue slid between his teeth and he let it explore his mouth, sliding his own tongue across Faye’s lips. His hands were on her back, sliding lower...

She leaned into him. 

Damn it all, she wasn’t wearing a bra. 

And there was not enough material between him and her to stop him from feeling -- 

Everything. 

Spike closed his eyes and breathed it in. 

Her breath, her hair, the shape of her body, her long legs folded on either side of him. 

Her hands...oh, her hands, sliding up and down his chest, unhooking buttons, slowly untucking his shirt, fingers tracing the edges of the knotted scar on his side from Vicious’ katana.

Something Spike usually kept very carefully hidden. 

But he didn’t stop her. 

She flitted over the scar as it slanted down, toward his hips, her fingers flowing effortlessly across his hip bone, flirting with his waistband.

He inhaled sharply as he was flooded with sensation. Guilt, pleasure, and desire -- something he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time. 

And then Faye’s hand dipped lower, below his waistband. 

Spike’s eyes flew open, alarm bells clanging in his head. He bit down on Faye’s lip hard enough to make her squeal. Her hand retreated as Spike shoved her backward, hard. Faye yelped and lost her balance, toppling off his lap. Spike scrambled upright, standing unsteadily on the couch to get as much distance between him and Faye as possible. Faye crashed into the coffee table, scattering nail polish and landing in a colorful heap of shattered bottles on the other side. 

For a moment, everything was frozen. 

“Oh, shit,” Spike breathed.

Faye’s head snapped up and she met his gaze with anger and tears. A ruby bead of blood clung to her lower lip. 

“So that’s it, huh?” she asked as she wiped her hand across her mouth. 

“What’s...it…?” Spike shifted and nearly lost his balance. He sat down on the back of the couch, at a loss for words. He was breathing hard, bare chest heaving, a sheen of sweat on his skin.

“I see how it is,” Faye accused. She wrung her hands, flinging shards of glass and splatters of paint off her robe. Tears of anger welled up in her eyes. “I’m not good ‘nough for you, ‘cause I’m not Julia. Is that it?” 

“No!” Spike denied out of reflex, but there was a part of him, deep down, that knew it was true. Sort of. “That’s not it at all.” 

“Then what is it?” Faye shouted as she picked herself up off the floor. 

There was enough of Spike present beneath the panic and whiskey to feel relieved that she didn’t seem to be injured. He crossed his arms over his chest so she wouldn’t see his hands shake. 

“We can’t -- I mean, I can’t --” 

“Can’t love me?” Faye demanded, tears spilling down her cheeks now. She swiped them away, but more took their place. “Can’t give in for one night to a desire that’s so damn human it hurts? What are you, a robot?” 

“No, I --” 

“You got a robot dick to go with your eye?” 

“Shut up, Faye!” Spike yelled, anger joining the other emotions swirling in his chest. He clenched his arms tighter against his chest so he wouldn’t lash out at her. “Of course not.” 

Faye glanced down. 

“And no, I’m not showing you to prove it.” 

She looked back up, sly, angry. “So you don’t like handjobs then, is that it?” 

“We both know you wouldn't’ve stopped there.” Spike narrowed his eyes.

“Maybe I would’ve.” Faye crossed her arms, sniffling in an attempt to stop the tears. 

“You don’t have enough self-restraint.” 

“And you’re a monster.” 

“Because I said no?” 

“You didn’t say no! You bit me! You p-pushed me!” The tears welled up again.

Spike opened his mouth and paused, then closed it. She was technically right. “You started it,” he muttered. 

“You let me!” 

“I didn’t know what you were going for!” 

“Don’t lie to me, Spike Spiegel! You’re a grown-ass adult. You knew where I was headed! If you didn’t want it, you should’ve stayed on the bridge!” 

“So the whole thing was a lie?!” Spike jumped off the couch and hissed as his bare feet hit the floor, shards of a shattered bottle lodging in his skin. He jabbed a finger at Faye. “All the questions, the vulnerability, the stupid...nail polish! It was all a lie just so you could get in my pants?! If you wanted to win my heart, you lost it. Now get out!” He pointed toward the stairs. “Get out before I do something I regret.” 

Faye stood there in silence, eyes wide as she stared at Spike, tears glistening on her cheeks. She opened her mouth like she might say something, but then she shook her head and pursed her lips. She spun on her heel and ran out of the room, clattering downstairs. Spike heard a door slam and then a scream.

He stared at the mess on the floor. Then he kicked the coffee table as hard as he could. He let out a yell of his own as he smashed his toes against the table. With a growl, Spike sank onto the couch, running his hands through his hair. 

After tonight, Jet was going to ban him from every damn room on the ship. 

Spike sighed and put his head in his hands, searching for his whiskey bottle. He found what was left of it on the floor, the spilled whiskey mixing with Faye’s nail polish. Spike swore.

Damn Faye. 

Damn her nail polish. 

Damn him.

* * *

Something woke him up. He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep. It was dark. The ship was quiet, all the lights out. Had Jet and Ed returned from their show? Spike didn’t have a watch, but he was pretty sure Jet would have woken him up if he’d gotten back. There was no way Jet would let this mess go without saying something. There was no way -- Spike froze, his danger senses kicking in, warning him that he wasn’t alone.

Someone was watching him. 

He could feel their gaze between his shoulder blades like a knife. 

It wasn’t Jet. The feeling was too cold, too precise. 

It definitely wasn’t Ed. 

Which left only one option. 

Spike steadied his breathing, tried to let the tension in his shoulders fade, to pretend he was still asleep. 

“I know you’re awake, lunkhead,” Faye hissed from across the room. 

Spike swallowed hard. His tongue tasted like cotton. He could feel the dull throb of a headache at the base of his skull. His heart hammered harder against his ribcage. 

“Faye,” he said. He didn’t roll over. He didn’t want to face her right now. Didn’t want to see those bloody lips, those bright, guilty, accusing eyes. 

“You’re brave,” Faye said. “Or extremely foolish.” 

“Why?” Spike asked, stalling. The feeling between his shoulder blades intensified. 

“Turning your back on the woman you scorned.” Faye _tskd_. 

“Scorned?! You tried to force yourself on me!” 

“It wasn’t forced. You knew what was going on. Now are you going to turn around or am I going to have to shoot you in the back?”

Spike stiffened. _Was she pointing a gun at him?_

“What the hell, Faye??” He rolled onto his back and raised his hands, just in case Faye was looking for an excuse to get jumpy. He turned his head so that he could see her, but with the lights out, all he could see in the chair across the room was a dark outline, blue highlights glinting off her hair and her long, pale legs. They were crossed at the knee, her robe split open up to her thighs. Her face and torso were in shadow, but Spike didn’t see the glint of a gun anywhere. Didn’t mean she didn’t have one though. “We both know if you were going to kill me you’d do it long and slow. A bullet’s too quick.” 

It was a joke. Sort of. But his words hung in the air, meeting only silence for several minutes. 

He left his hands up. Just in case. 

“You’re right,” Faye finally said. “I wouldn’t do it with a gun. I’d do it with my bare hands.” 

Spike sighed. “You do realize you’re far from the first person who’s threatened to do me in, right? I’m not scared of you, Faye.” 

“Oh? Then why are your hands in the air?” 

“Safety precautions.” 

“I don’t actually have a gun, you dolt. I just said it to get you to turn over.” 

Spike slowly lowered his hands until his fingers were laced across his chest, glad it was dark and Faye couldn’t see the flush he felt creeping up his face. “Then what are you doing here?” His words were clipped.

Faye didn’t answer. 

“Watching me sleep? ‘Cause that’s creepy, Faye.” 

“Shut up, Spike.”

Spike complied. He stared up at the ceiling fan, just a few outlines in the dark, lit by the blue glow of the safety lights on the stairs. Finally, he sighed. “Look, Faye, I’m sorry.” 

“I get it.” Her tone was neutral. Too neutral. 

“Do you?” 

“Yeah. It’s too soon.” 

Spike propped himself up on one elbow. “Faye, that’s not...really it.” 

“Oh? I never really pegged you for the one-woman-man kinda guy.” She sounded odd, like maybe she was trying not to cry. 

“Me neither,” Spike said softly. “But that was before Julia.” 

“Even now? Now that she’s --?” Faye broke off. 

“Just say it.” 

“Dead.” 

“Yeah. Now more than ever.” 

“What are you trying to prove?” Faye demanded. Spike heard her hand strike the armrest of her chair. “Loyalty? Devotion? To what? A dead woman’s bones?” 

“No!” His reply was sharp. Sharper than he meant it, but he didn’t take it back. 

“Then what?” The anger was evident in Faye’s tone again. 

“I’m not trying to prove anything, Faye. I just want --” he broke off. What did he want, exactly? 

He wanted Julia. He wanted a past he couldn’t have, a future that could never be. He knew it was a fantasy. He knew it was a memory. And yet -- he couldn’t give it up. Perhaps it was loyalty to something that he’d desperately wanted and always known he couldn’t have. But he knew, without a doubt, that if he ever tried to replicate what he had with Julia with another woman, it would be false. Perhaps he’d be sated for a while. At least physically. But he knew that he’d never reach that emotional connection he had with Julia. And that...that would feel like betrayal. It would be false. It would be empty. And no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was love, it wouldn’t be. 

The fact of the matter was, he would never love again. 

Not like he did with Julia. 

So he wasn’t going to lie to himself -- or to another woman -- and try to make it convincing. Given enough time, he could play the part. He’d always been good at that. But this time, he didn’t want to act. He wanted to live in reality. In the present. And to do that, he needed to keep Julia where she belonged. In the past. Which meant he wouldn’t sully her memory. He wouldn’t live in a constant state of longing for something he could never have. 

“What do you want, Spike?” Faye finally broke the silence. 

“I want…” he took a deep breath “...to live.”

“Well, you’re doing that.” 

“No, I mean, really live,” he said quietly to the darkness. “I want to live here and now. I want to let the past be the past. I don’t want to repeat Julia. And I -- I can’t, Faye. Not with you. Not with anyone.” 

“You’re afraid to lose her again, aren’t you?” Faye asked. 

Spike thought about it for a minute. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But I’m also not going to put another woman though the hell of living every minute of every day with me knowing that she’s not Julia.” 

There was a sharp intake of breath across the room. 

Spike felt something flutter in his chest. That was the first time he’d vocalized any of his feelings since the destruction of the Dragon. And it felt...He wasn’t sure how he felt. Vulnerable. And uncertain. But also like a weight he didn’t even know was there had been lifted off his chest. And now that it was gone, he could breathe again. 

“That’s why, Faye,” he finally said. 

There was a sort of laugh from across the room. “Well, at least it’s not because I’m ugly,” she said. 

“Is that what you thought?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Faye…” 

“I thought it was because you just couldn’t give up on Julia,” Faye said, the words tumbling out all in a rush, like maybe they were difficult for her to say and she wanted to get it over with quick. 

“Well, that’s sort of --” 

“No,” Faye interrupted him. “It’s because you’re actually thinking about someone other than yourself for once, lunkhead.” This time he could hear the tears in her voice. “In a convoluted sort of way, I guess. But you understand yourself enough to know the harm you’d wreak on someone else. And that’s...that’s actually really honest of you.” 

Spike snorted. Although there was still a pounding at the back of his head, at least it wasn’t matched by the pounding of his heart anymore. “Took me making a damn mess to figure it out.” 

“I...might be to blame for some of that.” 

“You know Jet’s gonna kill us, right?” 

“Oh, please. Has he never heard of nail polish remover?” 

“Faye, the the navigation controls are still speckled in ‘Lover’s Remorse.’”

“That’s...different.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. You’re right, Jet’s going to kill us.” 

“Only if we don’t kill us first.” 

Faye snorted. “How about instead of killing you, I help you clean up your mess?” she asked. 

Spike decided to ignore her veiled jibe. “Is that an apology I hear, Faye?” 

“Hey! If you want an apology, cowboy, take a rain check. Just because I understand you better doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you.” 

“Oh, good,” Spike sounded relieved. “Then we’re back to normal.” 

Something soft thunked into the couch over his head and flopped onto his chest. Spike reached up and felt a fuzzy slipper under his fingers as Faye stomped off to find her nail polish remover. It was nice to know that some things, at least, never changed. 


End file.
